February, 1770
River Run, North Carolina
BRÈAGHA POV
A few weeks had passed since the explosion, and since then, Archie and Caoimhe had returned from the Ridge bearing the news that all was well. Caoimhe had collected a few things from Mama's surgical tools as well, which would help aid her when she delivered the babies in less than a month. Less than a month. That was all that was left between now and when Brèagha would finally meet the child she carried inside of her. She had vowed that she wouldn't be like her own mother and disappear for nearly twenty years - she would be there for every waking second of this child's life, no matter what happened. If she could help it, at least. She couldn't deny that she was terribly nervous about the birth, as her first experience with childbirth ended with Auntie Saoirse's death. What if she ended up dying in childbirth, too? Caoimhe assured her that everything was well, according to what Mama had taught her, but she knew that complications could arise at any time. Anything could happen, and that was why Brèagha was so afraid.
As the day of the birth drew nearer, Brèagha grew more restless. She struggled to sleep at night and would occasionally wander the house looking for a way to distract herself. One night, she was up late painting the wintry landscape of River Run at night when Caoimhe interrupted her solitude. "Cannae sleep?" her cousin had asked, and Brèagha sighed.
"No," she replied.
"That isnae uncommon at this stage," Caoimhe replied. "Auntie Cat could scarcely sleep at all when she was this far along wi' Ginnie."
"What did she do?" Brèagha asked her.
"Same as you. Looked fer ways te busy herself. She had her herb book and she was workin' on that late into the night, or she would wander aboot the property. But ye cannae do that, it's too cold," Caoimhe replied.
"Aye. Ginnie was a summer bairn," said Brèagha, and then she sighed softly as she looked at her painting, which was finished - she just couldn't stop herself from touching up tiny little details here and there. "Would ye mind sittin' fer a portrait?"
"Me? Why dinnae ye paint Maevis? She's the only one ye havenae painted," Caoimhe asked her, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
"I'd like te send this one back te yer father. Uncle Cailean's last letter talked aboot how much he missed ye and asked me te paint a miniature fer him, but I'd like te do somethin' bigger. It'll distract me fer longer," Brèagha replied, and then Caoimhe sighed.
"Oh, all right… If it's fer my father, then fine," Caoimhe told her. Brèagha set up the portrait as Caoimhe sat down, and then Brèagha adjusted her hair and posed her before sitting back down on the stool.
"Ye ken… ye really do look like Auntie Saoirse," Brèagha told her as she began painting. "'Tis like she lives on in ye."
"My father says that, too. And Auntie," Caoimhe replied. "Sometimes, it's… hard to look in the mirror."
"I used te wish I looked like my mother," Brèagha replied as she painted. "It would hae been nice te have that when she was away… Everra time I would look in the mirror, she would be there. But no… I look like my father."
"Then he's the bonny one," Caoimhe told her. "Ye ken, ye've been described as the most beautiful woman in North Carolina." Brèagha scoffed. "It's true! Everra man wants te be yer husband."
"Well, I dinnae want any of them," Brèagha replied.
"Aye, I ken," Caoimhe replied softly. "What would ye do if… if Rory doesnae come back?"
"He will come back. Mama promised," Brèagha told her.
"But… if he doesnae?" Brèagha didn't answer her. Instead, she painted on in silence. "I dinnae want te upset ye, cousin, but… it is a possibility."
"A possibility I dinnae want te think aboot," Brèagha told her a bit shortly.
"I ken," Caoimhe told her. "We dinnae have te think of it now, just… The future is a long time. Much longer than the present."
"'Tis also far away," Brèagha replied.
"Not as far as ye think," said Caoimhe. "If we've yer dates right, yer due in a month, maybe less. Tha's four weeks, Brèagha. Twenty-eight days."
"I know how many days are in a month!" Brèagha snapped at her sharply, freezing. She huffed heavily after a moment and then resumed her painting.
"I'm sorry," Caoimhe told her. "I cannae help but te be worrit aboot ye. Ye might as well be my sister. Ye and Maevis both… and Maevis is yer actual sister. She's more worrit aboot you than she is aboot herself, and she's the one wi' twins. 'Twill be a lot more difficult te have twins." Brèagha slammed the paintbrush down onto the easel loudly.
"I dinnae want te hear aboot how much worse Maevis has it than me," she snapped at her cousin. "She always has it worse. She was raped, she was sent away from Mama because of the war, she was separated from her twin brother. I get it. Her life was awful while mine was privileged and safe. I dinnae deserve te complain."
"No one's sayin' that at all, Bree," Caoimhe told her.
"Well, it sure sounds like it!" Brèagha snapped back at her, standing up and going to the window. "All these months, it's been aboot her and her feelin's, her problems, this and that and everrathin' else… It doesnae matter that I was brought up safe and privileged. Shit has happened te me, to, but everraone just… sweeps it under the rug." Her voice cracked a little, but she fought off the tears that began to well up in her eyes.
"I… I'm sorry that we've all made ye feel that way," Caoimhe told her softly. "Yer right… I guess it sort of slips out, but I promise ye, we dinnae mean it."
"I know her problems are worse than mine," Brèagha said softly. "I know tha' my greatest problem is the love of my life bein' taken away from me. But it doesnae mean my pain is any less!"
"It isnae," Caoimhe told her. "Fire is fire regardless of the size. Fire always hurts. Ye can drown in a puddle the same as ye can down in the ocean." Caoimhe stood up and approached her cousin, embracing her gently from behind and resting her chin on Brèagha's shoulder as she cried softly. "Och, I'm so sorry we've made ye feel so rotten… We've no' been verra fair te ye, have we?" Brèagha didn't answer her, but she did calm down a little. She sniffled, then used her handkerchief to wipe the tears away.
"I… I think I want te lie down… We can finish the paintin' tomorrow," she said softly.
"If tha's what ye'd like, then sure," said Caoimhe. "I'll fetch ye some tea. Tea makes everrathin' better, doesnae it?"
"It cannae bring Rory back… nor can it go back in time and prevent all of the horrible things that have happened te our family," Brèagha replied as Caoimhe led her out of the library.
"No, but wi' a wee bit of whisky in it, ye can at least forget fer a time," Caoimhe replied.
MAEVIS POV
Every day, Maevis felt heavier and even more disgusting. She was tired, sore, cold and hot at the same time, and overall, she just felt absolutely miserable. She hadn't wanted to go downstairs for breakfast, but Jocasta encouraged it, as she had missed breakfast with her family for the last few days and believed that Maevis needed the change of scenery. Truth to be told, Maevis just wanted to go back to the Ridge with her brother, sisters, cousins and parents and hope for the best. When she arrived at breakfast, only Brèagha was there at the table along with Jocasta, and she was sipping her tea impatiently as Jocasta spoke to her about marriage.
"Yer time is drawin' nearer and nearer, my darlin'. Ye must wed Lord Grey, and soon," Jocasta could be heard saying to Brèagha.
"Lord Grey has other affairs he must attend te," Brèagha told her. "He's gone back te Virginia te see his son off te England fer schoolin'."
"Surely, he knows the utmost importance of seein' ye marrit before yer child arrives," Jocasta said impatiently as Maevis joined the pair of them and sat down at the table.
"Don't worry, Auntie, we know how important it is," Maevis said to her, basically announcing her presence, and then she leaned in towards her sister and lowered her voice. "As she never lets us forget…"
"Ah, Maevis. I'm glad ye've joined us," Jocasta said to her.
"I thought this was a family breakfast. Where are Archie, Clara and Caoimhe?" Maevis asked her, but she already knew the answer. This wasn't a family breakfast, this was a strategically-planned ambush of the two pregnant unwed residents of the house.
"They're likely te join us soon," said Jocasta, and Maevis scoffed.
"No they're not. You called us here specifically," Maevis told her.
"Ye both ken tha' yer times are drawin' near," Jocasta told her. "Brèagha, at the verra least, is engaged, but you, my dear, are not. Now, I ken we've talked aboot Mr. Forbes…"
"I've already told you, I will not marry that vile wanker," Maevis told her firmly, and she heard Brèagha snicker softly across the table.
"Vile he may be, but he is yer only viable choice just now," Jocasta reminded her. "Yer days are numbered, and he is the only one who is willing te accept ye in yer condition."
"My days are numbered? Are we planning my wedding or my funeral?" Maevis asked her. She was sick of having the same conversation over and over again, so she was going to have fun with this.
"Oh, Maevis," said Jocasta with a small scoff. "Ye must take this seriously."
"I am taking it seriously," said Maevis, and she glanced up at the doorway as Archie and Clara entered the dining room. "Oh, look. Archie and Clara are here."
"Aye, I thought we'd be early, but it seems we're late," said Archie, pulling out a seat for Clara and then pushing it back in. "Is everrathin' all right?"
"Everrathin' will be fine, once yer sisters are marrit and settled," Jocasta told him, and Archie had to refrain from snorting with laughter. He was well aware of how annoying Maevis thought this conversation was, as they'd talked about it many times. "Maevis is bein' a wee bit stubborn."
"Maevis has made it clear she doesn't want to marry," Maevis said as she cut into a piece of toast. "And she especially doesn't want to marry Mr. Forbes."
"Aye, no one wants that," Archie chimed in as he sat down.
"Then ye must find someone else," Jocasta said to her.
"What about Geordie Severs? He's so kind, and I know he's sweet on you, Maevis," Clara said, and Maevis's cheeks turned a little pink at the mention of marrying Geordie. Jocasta, on the other hand, scoffed.
"Geordie Severs wouldnae make a good husband fer Maevis. He cannae support a wife, let alone a child. Not with his condition," Jocasta said firmly. "Maevis must marry a man with means, and young Mr. Severs is not a man with means."
"He could be, if everyone would stop treating him like he's broken," said Maevis calmly, albeit a bit irritably. "He can function perfectly normally. He just has tics."
"Ticks? Like the wee beasties?" Archie asked her, referring to the bugs, but Maevis shook her head.
"No, this is a different kind of tic," said Maevis. "It's when he has those involuntary movements or makes a sound that he can't control."
"Or involuntarily stabs himself wi' a knife," said Jocasta. "No, Mr. Severs is not a suitable choice. He cannae be trusted with children if he cannae be trusted wi' himself. What of Mr. McCullough?"
"He's lovesick over Caoimhe," Archie replied.
"Oh, is he now? Perhaps we can expect a proposal from him soon?" Jocasta asked, a sly smile on her face.
"I doubt it," Archie told her, forking a piece of egg into his mouth. "She doesnae look twice at him and seems irritated by his existence."
"Caoimhe doesnae wish te marry, either," Brèagha chimed in.
"A decision she is free te make, as she isnae expectin'," Jocasta said. "Though if Mr. McCullough admires her, I cannae see why she would reject his proposal. He's a fine business and he can support a family. Perhaps he can be persuaded te offer Maevis a proposal."
"I'm still here, in the room, in case any of you forgot," Maevis said to them all. "If someone proposes to me, I'm not going to accept."
"Ye dinnae have a choice," Jocasta told her firmly.
"I do have a choice, and my choice is 'no'," said Maevis, equally firmly, and Brèagha scoffed a little.
"Ye dinnae have te be such a spoilt wee brat aboot it," Brèagha told her a bit sharply, and for a moment, Maevis gaped her before scoffing loudly.
"And you don't have to be such an entitled bitch about it," she snapped back at her sister, and Jocasta gasped while Archie spit his tea.
"Maevis!" Jocasta said in a scolding tone.
"I beg yer pardon?" Brèagha asked her, not even slightly shaken up by the remark, and she scowled at her brother, who continued to cackle in his seat.
"What? Ye are kind of bein' a bitch," Archie told her once he caught her scowl, and she scoffed at him.
"Archie! I will not tolerate such foul language in my house!" Jocasta scolded him.
"Oh, can it, all of you!" Maevis snapped at them, and then she reared on her sister. "And as for you, that is ripe coming from you, considering your engagement to Lord John isn't even real!" Brèagha's eyes widened at this.
"What do ye mean, yer engagement te Lord Grey isnae real?" Jocasta asked her, and Maevis scoffed a little.
"She knows very well that I'm the one who plotted with Lord John to pretend to be engaged to her so you'd leave her alone while she waited for Rory to return. I could have asked Lord John to pretend to be engaged to me, but I didn't because I was trying to help you, and you just threw me under the bus!" Maevis snapped at Brèagha. "If I hadn't done that, you'd be the one pawned off to Mr. Forbes, so the least you can do is not be such a bitch." Archie snorted loudly as he tried to contain his laughter.
"I…" Brèagha said softly, glancing nervously at Jocasta.
"Do ye mean te say ye never had any intention of marryin' Lord Grey?" Jocasta asked her.
"Um…" said Brèagha a bit meekly. "I… He offered te pretend te be engaged te me until Rory returns, and he hasnae yet! He could still come back! We havenae even heard from Mama and Da yet!"
"And if he doesnae return? What would ye do then?" Jocasta asked of her, and Brèagha sputtered. At this moment, Caoimhe entered the dining room and she froze when she read the room.
"Damn, have I missed all the fun?" she asked, and Jocasta made a noise of discontent.
"So far, Maevis has called Brèagha a bitch twice and Auntie now kens tha' Bree's engagement te Lord John isnae real," Archie explained to her. "And yer bein' judged fer not likin' Mr. McCullough."
"I'm bein' judged? I wasnae even here!" Caoimhe exclaimed, and Jocasta let out a heavy sigh.
"Ulysses, do assist me te my study," said Jocasta loudly, attracting Ulysses to her like a moth to light. Everyone sat in silence as she was led out, and once she was gone, Brèagha stood up and slammed her palms on the table.
"How could ye say that?" she demanded. "Now what am I te do?"
"You throw me under the bus, I throw you under the bus," Maevis answered her casually.
"I dinnae even ken what that means!" Brèagha shouted back at her.
"Fine, then if you throw me under the wagon, I throw you under the wagon! You rat me out, then I rat you out!" Maevis snapped at her. "I'm sick of you being such a damn hypocrite! You don't want to get married, either, so why are you taking Jocasta's side when she's against me? You didn't do it when she was against Caoimhe!"
"Fightin' like this isnae good fer the bairns," Caoimhe reminded them loudly.
"Apparently, so is being unmarried," said Maevis, and then she stood up. "I've had enough of this, I'm going upstairs." Brèagha scoffed.
"Always runnin' away from yer problems, arenae ye?" she demanded, following Maevis out of the dining room. "Ye cannae run forever!" Maevis turned around and slapped her sister firmly across the face, the sound of her hand making contact with Brèagha's face echoing throughout the house. After the echo faded, the house fell into dead silence, and behind Brèagha, Maevis could see the shocked expressions of Caoimhe, Clara and Archie all staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed like goldfish.
"When I storm out of a room after arguing with you… that is why. I cannot tell you how badly I've wanted to do that, but I have held myself back because you are my sister," Maevis told her firmly, pointing a finger at her. "Not anymore. I will not be treated like this, especially not by you." She looked Brèagha firmly in the eye, who was holding her hand over the spot where Maevis had struck her, and then Maevis turned and went up the stairs as quickly as she could.
ARCHIE POV
Archie took mild pleasure in seeing Maevis slap Brèagha like that. Brèagha had been poking the bear for so long that she should have known that Maevis would eventually stop taking her shit and strike back, and she did. "Did ye see the look on her face after that?" Archie asked his wife once they were back in their bedchamber. Clara had looked a little pale, but Archie suspected it had something to do with the cold. "I wish so badly that I was an artist so I could paint her expression and hang it up where I can see it everra day. She deserved that."
"I've only seen a fraction of how your sisters interact, so I wouldn't really know," Clara told him, standing by the slightly open window to get a bit of cold air.
"Clara, ye should come and sit by the fire. Ye dinnae look verra well," he said once he looked up at her, but she shook her head, holding her hand firmly against her stomach. "Wha's the matter?"
"Perhaps I ate something that… made me feel a little unwell," she said softly.
"Would ye like me te fetch Caoimhe? I'm sure she has a tea fer it," Archie asked, and she nodded.
"The marshmallow root," she said. "That one's been working the best."
"Marshmallow root, got it," said Archie, and he made for the door, but stopped as he digested her words. Slowly, he turned back around. "What do ye mean 'been workin'?" She glanced up at him a bit awkwardly, then looked away, then let out a soft sigh.
"Oh, all right," she said. "I just want you to know that I'm not sure of anything and neither is Caoimhe."
"Caoimhe?" Archie asked her, raising a brow. "Do ye mean te say yer…" She didn't answer him verbally, but the look on her face suggested that the answer Archie wanted to hear was a great possibility. He smiled softly, then let out a loud laugh and clapped his hands together. "Ye mean it?"
"I told you, I'm not certain, but… it's possible," she said, and then she smiled softly as Archie crossed the room, lifted her up in his arms and spun her around, both of them laughing as they collapsed onto the bed.
"When do ye think it'll be here?" Archie asked her, allowing one of his hands to rest on her belly, and Clara covered his hand with hers.
"I'm not sure… Caoimhe thinks August, maybe, or September. She said it could even be as late as early October, but she says she'll have to wait for your mother to return to be able to tell for sure. Her exact words were 'my aunt is better with these things than I am'," Clara answered him, and Archie chuckled slightly, his smile fading a little. "What? What is it, Archie? Aren't you happy?"
"Of course I am," he told her. "I just… didnae think aboot how my mother might feel aboot all this. I'm sure she'll love ye as I do, but… well… it's complicated te explain."
"Oh…" said Clara softly. "I guess I didn't really think about that, either… We had friends back in Wilmington, and one of them greatly disliked her son's wife. She was very close to her son, too. I suppose she did not like the idea that someone else had all of her son's attention."
"My mother isnae petty like that," Archie said. "…most of the time. I just… I have an odd feelin' aboot the weeks te come and… at first, I thought it was become my mother ought te be returnin' soon te a family she willnae recognise… again…"
"Again?" Clara asked him, raising a brow, and Archie laid down with his back on the bed with a soft chuckle.
"It's a long, long story… I'll tell it another time," he said.
"Oh," Clara said softly. "Well… perhaps you're nervous about your sisters. They're due in less than a month now, aren't they?"
"Caoimhe says the second or third week of March, at the absolute latest," Archie told her a bit uneasily.
"And that's very close," Clara replied, also laying down with her back on the bed, then took his hand in hers. "Do you think your parents will return before the babies come?" Archie sighed softly.
"I dinnae ken," he said. "Somehow, I dinnae think so."
"It'll be all right. Caoimhe knows what she's doing," Clara said to him. "I can tell just by looking at her. She radiates confidence, for one, and when you get her talking about medicine, she sounds like a book."
"It would be better if Mama were here, but… she was the one who trained Caoimhe. If she cannae be here, I'd rather it be Caoimhe," Archie told her, looking at her and smiling softly, and then he gave her hand a small squeeze. "She'll be here fer you, though. I'm glad of that, at least." Clara smiled softly.
"I am, too," she said.
Early March, 1770
Newark, New Jersey
RORY POV
Wow, so this was Newark in the eighteenth century. In Rory's time, Newark was… not exactly the safest city or even the cleanest, but in this time, it resembled Wilmington fairly closely, with one Main Street and buildings lining it on either side. It was just colder than Wilmington. Rory was seated on a barrel outside of an inn while Jamie worked on getting them passage on a ship back to Wilmington, but there were very few ships leaving port this time of year. When Jamie emerged from the inn, Rory jumped up, startling the man a little. "Anythin'?" he asked, and Jamie gave him an annoyed side-eye as he counted his coins.
"Aye. We leave in two days' time fer New Bern," Jamie told him.
"New Bern? That isnae Wilmington," Rory said stupidly as he followed Jamie.
"Isnae it?" Jamie asked him, and Rory huffed.
"Ye ken what I mean," he said irritably. "New Bern is far from Wilmington."
"We've better luck findin' a ship te take us from New Bern te Wilmington than here," Jamie told him without emotion, as if he were talking to an annoying child who asked too many questions.
"And if we dinnae find one that'll be leavin' soon?" Rory asked him, and Jamie stopped to look at him, clearly agitated by his presence.
"Then we'll walk te Cross Creek," he said, giving Rory a firm look, and then he continued on, pocketing his coins.
"I get it. Ye hate me. But ye dinnae need te make it so clear," Rory said as he followed the man.
"No? Have ye decided whether ye'll do right by my daughter or no'?" Jamie asked him, not even looking at him.
"Ye dinnae understand my position," Rory told him. "I assume Catrìona told ye aboot what happened in our time. I dinnae think there's any way we could describe it te ye accurately. The massive scale of destruction… it made me truly afraid te bring a child into a world where people could do such horrible things."
"This time isnae yer time. We dinnae have such… weapons of mass destruction," Jamie reminded him.
"I know that. But it's more… psychological, at this point," Rory told him. "If you'd seen what I'd seen… Well, not te quote 'Killiecrankie', but ye certainly wouldnae be so canty aboot it. These people of this time may not be the people from mine, but they'll become those people. America is where the first atomic bombs were created and used te kill thousands of people. Te hear aboot it is one thing, but te see it… Well, ye've seen the burn scars on Elton's arms. I struggle te look at young children and no' see them burnt horribly, no' hear their screams and cries of agony. Some days, it was hard te look at my own sister because I'd had the image of a young girl her age dyin' from the radiation burned into my mind. If ye'd seen it… ye wouldnae want te bring a child into a world capable of such things."
"No?" Jamie asked, stopping again. "Tha's what makes us different, then, isnae it? I cannae see it, and I never will see it. But ye see, lad, the child is already bein' brought into this world, whether yer there te witness it or no'. What do ye say te that?" Rory didn't answer him right away, and Jamie nodded slightly. "Thought so." He turned and continued on, leaving Rory in place. He was right… Brèagha was due any day, according to her mother. This child was coming, whether Rory liked it or not… so would he stay and do his best to raise a better man or woman who could someday change the world? Or would he give into his fears, chicken out and go back to his own time, where he can forget his wife and his child ever existed?
"Wait, Jamie," Rory said, running after him, and he stopped Jamie by blocking his path, which only seemed to annoy the man even more. He made a noise of frustration to show this, but Rory didn't care. Catrìona had told him that Jamie had once been an outlaw, and yet he took a wife and had a child less than a year later. "Did it frighten ye?"
"Out of my way," Jamie said irritably.
"Havin' a child, did it frighten ye?" Rory asked him, which seemed to force Jamie to stop and think for a moment. He glanced briefly at Rory, who was much shorter than him, before he glanced at something else.
"I was terrified," he confessed. "I didnae ken how I would care fer a wife and a child… Aye, well… Catrìona I didnae have te worry aboot, but… Archie and Brian were a different story." Brian? Forget it, that's not important right now.
"What did ye do about it?" Rory asked him, and Jamie squared his jaw as he looked Rory firmly in the eye.
"I swallowed any fear I had, because it was my duty as the father of those lads te provide fer them in any way that I could. 'Twas my doin' tha' those lads even came te fruition, as it was yers tha' brought aboot my daughter's child," Jamie told him a bit harshly. "If ye want advice, do right by my daughter, but if ye decide not to, then I dinnae want te see ye on that ship te New Bern." With that said, Jamie pushed past him and continued on to the inn where they were staying, leaving Rory standing there in silence. He was right… Brèagha wouldn't have gotten pregnant if it weren't for Rory, and he was also right that the child he was so afraid of bringing into the world was already here. There was no denying it, and nothing to be done about it now. But fatherhood scared him… He had been young when his own father had died, and Stephanie didn't have a husband when she took in himself, Morgan and Maevis. Rory had no idea how to be a father, but he did see how protective Jamie was of his daughter. If Rory had a daughter…
He tried to imagine how he would feel if he were in Jamie's position and his daughter had gone off and married some man he didn't know about. Would he be angry? Actually… yeah. He would. He would want to at least know the guy that was manhandling his daughter. But then there was the fact that if Rory decided not to return to North Carolina, then Brèagha would be all alone with his child. No matter how scared Rory was of being a father, he was the one who could get off with no consequence, and she was likely more frightened than he was. If Brèagha didn't want to be a mother, she didn't have a choice. She was the one who was carrying the child, and in this time, carrying all the shit that came with it. Sometimes, even married women were looked down upon for being pregnant, because it was known that the pregnant woman had sex and apparently, it was a big no-no for women to have sex. Nevermind the fact that they were the ones responsible for bringing about the next generation… Could Rory live with himself if he left her behind, left her with his child, to care for it all on her own? She would resent him forever, and the child would grow to resent him, too. That resentment might turn that beautiful, charming and elegant woman into someone vile who hates everything the world has to offer.
No, he couldn't just leave her. Jamie was right - he had to take responsibility for his child, no matter how much it frightened him. He would be on that ship to New Bern.
9 March, 1770
Cross Creek, North Carolina
CAOIMHE POV
Caoimhe, with her basket on her arm, walked through the town from the apothecary with fresh herbs and other necessary things. The births were now days away, and Caoimhe wanted to make sure she had enough of everything - marshmallow root for nausea, that cannabis plant that Auntie Cat suggested for the pain (which apparently needed to be smoked), and quite a lot of kale and mustard greens, which Caoimhe had specific instructions to make a tonic out of to give to the bairns when they were born. "In our time, bairns are given a Vitamin K jab te help protect them against internal bleedin', which can be verra dangerous in newborns. But we dinnae have that, so a tonic made from plants wi' Vitamin K will have te do," she had said, so Caoimhe made a point to get everything she asked for. But how would she give it to the bairns?
"Miss Fowlis!" said a rather excited voice behind her, and Caoimhe knew exactly who it belonged to.
"Damn it," she whispered, and then she turned around to see Mr. McCullough standing outside of his store. When she turned to face him, he smiled and approached her, despite her not actually responding to him. "Mr. McCullough, I… didnae expect te see ye."
"I saw ye passin' by my shop," he told her, slightly out of breath. "Er… How are yer cousins?"
"Due any day," Caoimhe replied. "I'll need te hang close te the house now, and really shouldnae be too far, so I should go."
"I've been meanin' te write, I just… 'Tis a busy time of year, wi' quarter taxes due soon," he told her.
"It's all right," she told him, trying to find a window to leave.
"My mother and I wish te give yer cousins somethin', fer the bairns," said Mr. McCullough suddenly. "Would ye mind joinin' me in the shop?"
"Um… Ye ken, I should really get back te the house," Caoimhe said a bit awkwardly.
"'Twill be but a moment of yer time, Miss Fowlis," said Mr. McCullough, and Caoimhe sighed.
"Oh, all right," she said, following Mr. McCullough inside of his shop. It was a general store, so it had a little bit of everything, from bowls to trinkets to bags of feed, textiles and more. She looked around the store while Mr. McCullough spoke with his mother behind the counter, then found herself drawn to a beautiful China teapot. She'd never thought to own one, as it was a useless item to someone who had no intention of staying put, but it was beautiful. She pulled herself away from it and took a look at some wooden butter churns and buckets, then found herself looking at a small burlap sack filled with something called 'coffee beans', then raised a brow. What was a coffee bean?
"Good day te ye, Miss Fowlis," said Mrs. McCullough sweetly to Caoimhe, drawing her attention.
"Good day te ye, Mistress McCullough," said Caoimhe politely.
"My Allan says yer cousins are due te have their bairns any day now. Ye must be excited," said Mrs. McCullough with a smile.
"Aye, fer them and fer the bairns," Caoimhe replied, gently touching the sack of beans. "They're itchin' te be done wi' pregnancy, I can tell. Er, gabh mo leisgeul, but what are 'coffee beans'?"
"Oh, they're better than tea," said Mrs. McCullough happily. "I've a pot brewin' if ye'd like te try some!"
"Oh, I dinnae think I've the time," said Caoimhe.
"Come, come! If ye've never had coffee, then ye must try it! 'Twill replace tea, it will, if the English dinnae lower their taxes," said Mrs. McCullough, beckoning Caoimhe to join her in the back of the shop, and Caoimhe sighed, following the woman. Mrs. McCullough gave her a tin cup of a dark, fragrant liquid, and Caoimhe sniffed it first, quite surprised at the scent.
"It smells delightful," she said, and then she took a small sip, making a face. "And it tastes like a sailor's bum crack! Blessed Bride…"
"Och, 'tis an acquired taste, but if tea is te be taxed sae, then it will be all we have," said Mrs. McCullough, dropping a sugar cube into the coffee. "Try it now." Hesitantly, Caoimhe gave it another chance, but it still tasted awful.
"I dinnae think this will grow on me, I'm afraid," Caoimhe replied, handing the cup back to Mrs. McCullough.
"I'll give ye a wee bag te take back wi' ye. Perhaps yer auntie has somethin' in her kitchens te sweeten it up nicely," said Mrs. McCullough, and Caoimhe nodded.
"Huh. It might no' taste too bad in a syllabub," Caoimhe said, watching Mrs. McCullough leave. She heard footsteps on the stairs next and she turned to see young Mr. McCullough coming down the stairs carrying what looked like pieces of fabric.
"Och, has Mama forced her coffee on ye?" he asked her with a chuckle. "She swears it'll be what replaces tea, if we cannae afford it, but I dinnae see how. 'Tis a bitter taste. 'Acquired' indeed."
"I imagine it wouldnae taste too bad in a cake," Caoimhe replied, taking a look at the fabric he held. "What's that, there?"
"Gowns, made fer the bairns by my mother," said Mr. McCullough, unfolding one of them and showing it to her. "Made from the finest wool we have. She thought it best fer them te be kept warm."
"Oh, I… I cannae accept that…" said Caoimhe, her eyes wide with shock as she looked at the gowns.
"Please, if ye dinnae mind… I think they will do her good te have them out of the house, and… myself, as well," Mr. McCullough told her, handing them to her. "My mother made them fer my… my late wife, Rachel, when she was wi' child." At this, Caoimhe raised a brow.
"Ye were marrit?" she asked him.
"Marrit and widowed, three years this past January," said Mr. McCullough, a sad look in his eye. "We were marrit at the end of summer, and she became wi' child. My mother was verra happy te have a distraction from my father's death, and she made these fer the bairn, but… it wasnae te be. She miscarried and died along wi' the bairn."
"I… I'm so sorry te hear that, Mr. McCullough," said Caoimhe with sympathy, gently touching his wrist, and he nodded subtly.
"It was a daughter," he said softly. "We wanted te call her Eleanor."
"'Tis a bonny name," said Caoimhe, seeing this poor man in a different light. He was grieving the loss of his wife, and when he finally decided to branch out again, Caoimhe was quick to cut them back. Suddenly, Mrs. McCullough returned, interrupting the silence, and she paused when she saw the gowns in Caoimhe's hands.
"Oh, wee Ellie's gowns," said Mrs. McCullough softly. "I'll be glad te see them go te a bairn that needs them. Allan suggested we give them te yer cousins…"
"And they'll be grateful. I dinnae think they really have much fer the bairns," said Caoimhe, placing the gowns in her basket. "Thank ye, verra much, and I'll be sure te tell my cousins where this verra kind and thoughtful gift came from."
"And ye'll take this as well," said Mrs. McCullough, placing a small bag of coffee beans in the basket as well. "I cannae give yer cousins a gift without givin' ye one, as well, my dear." Caoimhe chuckled gently.
"Thank ye, Mrs. McCullough. I'll be sure te share whatever recipe I can whip up wi' ye," she said kindly, and then she glanced back at Mr. McCullough. "I really ought te be goin' now. I dinnae want te stray too far fer too long, lest one of my cousins goes into labour."
"Of course," said Mr. McCullough, standing with his hands behind his back. "It was nice te see ye again, Miss Fowlis." Caoimhe nodded subtly, a small smile resting on her lips.
"Ye as well," she said kindly. She curtsied to them both and bid them a good day, and then she was on her way. All right, Allan McCullough wasn't that bad, but Caoimhe still didn't want to get married. At least… not right now.
